


WhiteOut

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, MHBB 2018, Murder Husbands, Murder Husbands Big Bang, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-03 12:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Trying to build something for the future doesn’t mean you can leave the past behind you so easily.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebloodbruise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebloodbruise/gifts).



> Thank you so much, JollyJet for your beautiful and color-scheme PERFECT illustrations, the rawness of the emotions beautifully fit with the setting!!!  
> You caught the meaning >so< easily, I owe you awe <33 
> 
> I'm gifting this story to BlueBloodBruise because in their story "Herringbone" some of the same hooks came into play.... and I yelled at them in the comments, flailing wildly at the sheer ingenuity. My story is much shorter than theirs and so it explores those hooks differently, but I hope you will enjoy this little excursion! 
> 
> Thanks as well to all the writers and artists who always take part in the Big Bangs and of course huge Kudos to the Mods, giving their free time and nerves, and, knowing how it is I want to say that they did an exemplary job, the instructions always on time and very clear. 
> 
> Thank you for having our back!
> 
>  
> 
> (I've split this into several chapters with the flow, I hope it makes sense to you guys!!)
> 
> And now... I hope you enjoy! <333

Will burrows his nose deeper into the fur of the coat, glad he took one of Hannibal’s, the slightly larger cut allowing for double layer sweaters underneath, his upper body comfortable warm in the crystal clear cold air, the snow crunching under his feet. He breathes in, his nostrils filling with the now familiar smell, his mouth shaping a small smile without a conscious thought. The line in his cheek pulls a little bit.

His breath fogs as he marches on, the low sunlight filtering through the birch trees, bathing the path in a surreal light, the colors at once bright beyond compare and yet muted down, the world so very silent around him. He grunts when his foot catches a root under the thick layer of snow, stumbling with the weight of the cluster of rabbits he carries on his back, shifting with the movement to slide forward over his arm. Will curses quietly and pulls himself up, breathing in deeply, eyes closing for a moment, enjoying how the breeze cools the sweat on his face. He licks his lips, tasting salt and then shifts the gutted carcasses back, falling back into step. His muscles ache but it is a good ache, borne from a day outdoors, with the outlook of being able to come back to a warm home in the evening. Will snorts, gently, a bit at himself, raising his eyes from the path to look up at the patch of light far ahead, the lights just visible beyond the next meadow.

The lights are on for him, a beacon to call him back, even if the illumination itself is not necessary yet for this time of day.

_“Sometimes...at night I leave the lights on in my little house. And ... walk across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. It's really the only time I feel safe.”_

“I want you to feel safe.”

The words echo in Will’s mind, spoken with a familiar lilt, an answer to a raised eyebrow the first day Will came back from the day spent outside, away, silently commenting, knowing the answer already. Hannibal had smiled softly, somehow tinged with sadness and then turned back to the kitchen, returning to cooking without a fuzz, gait still a bit stilted from being in a wheelchair so long. Will had blinked, rapidly, forcing history and emotions down, had dropped the salmon in the pantry on the long steel table they had installed for their meat preparations with shaky hands. Had not understood why it had unsettled him so deeply. Will chuckles now, remembering how he was a nervous wreck for the first few weeks after the table’s installation, somehow anticipating a culling of the rude. It never came, their game exclusively animals. And provided by Will only. 

Will crosses the meadow, the sound of the small creek drifting over, the big house built onto a huge boulder next to it, the wooden exterior hiding the ultra modern interior from the little street leading up to it, the side to the woods open and framed in glass. He tracks the movement in the house automatically as he closes in slowly, the shadow of Hannibal in the front of the house and the excited jumps of the dogs having spotted him already, of course. He didn’t take them with him today, for reasons he cannot quite name, doesn’t dare explore, a need to go out and be alone driving him. The days alone quiet the buzz in his mind, their lives relaxed as they may be these days.  
And yet.

Sometimes, it just builds up.  
And Will has to get out.

The lights call him back, eventually.

The side door screeches as Will pushes it open, making him wince, the sound profoundly unnatural after a day outside in low forest sounds. 

“I will oil the hinges in the morning.”

Will smiles, instinctually, sighing in gratitude when Hannibal steps up and takes the rabbits from him, his left hand coming up to massage his right shoulder, rolling it against the pain there, the latest wound there healed but the nerves forever damaged. He grimaces, his tongue going to his right cheek, the scar there a numb line in his mouth, the lines of his face changed, something the uncountable sketches that lie around the living room show without doubt. He doesn’t mind the sketching, not really, the scratching of the pencil on paper almost lost in the crackle of the fire in the evenings. Swallowed down with every sip of wine.

It’s intimate, like a caress.  
It makes Will yearn.

Will turns to Hannibal and gives him another tight smile, warmth spreading when it is returned, the emotions so easy between them. And yet indecipherable. Will unbuttons the coat and clears his throat, indicating the blood stains curtesy of his little stumble earlier with a nod. “I’ll clean it a bit later. For now I’d love to take a shower.”

“Of course. I will prepare dinner.”

Hannibal inhales almost discreetly, his eyes catching the low sunlight for a moment, making them burn red. It should probably bother Will but it only makes him smirk a bit, awareness zinging between them with burning clarity. It slams down and the need to touch makes Will lightheaded instantly, his step faltering, hands clenching. The moment breaks when Hannibal blinks and then turns away almost nonchalantly, leaving Will standing there for long moments, trying to collect himself, resigning himself to a cold shower, forcing the bitter taste on his tongue down and away, the buzz starting up again in the back of his brain.

The shower helps but Will is aware that he takes way too long, aware that Hannibal is done by now, will be waiting. His feet refuse to move from the little black tiles though, watching the swirls as the water disappears down the drain with his forehead pressed against the larger dark grey tiles. ‘What did you expect? The hearts and flowers routine?’ Will balls his fist and hits it against the tiles, angry at himself suddenly, the feeling throbbing away with every heartbeat, hollow echoes in the chambers of his mind.

There is a click and then the smell of food drifts in, Hannibal’s aftershave mixed in somewhere. Will opens eyes he doesn’t recall closing, watching the shadow lay itself over his body, the light from his bedside table broken by the rushing water bathing the scene in flickering light. Watching him, unashamed. “Come to dinner, Will.”

Will clicks his tongue, exhaling with a sigh, turning his head up into the slowly cooling spray. He reaches up, turning the knob, the sudden silence deafening. His eyes open unseeing on the ceiling, unable to keep the request in, his voice brittle. “Will you come to me, later?”

A pause, painful, the rustle of clothes as Hannibal turns back towards the door. “Of course, if you so wish.”

Will closes his eyes and swallows, and then towels himself off almost dispassionately, getting himself ready for dinner, his mind focused on ‘later’.


	2. Chapter 2

Later is never directly after dinner, or when Will gets ready for bed, or when he tries to calm his nerves, tries to fall asleep. Tries not to hope. Or dread. 

Later is always in the dead of night, in darkness.

It’s calloused hands pushing away the blankets, a heavy weight bearing down on Will, roaming his body. It’s a mouth, biting softly at his neck, licking into his ear. It’s shared breath, panting, while hands entwine and lock, knuckles white, stubble catching. It’s not kissing. Never that. Tonight, it’s the weight shifting, pulling cloth away, and a tongue going deep. It’s wetness and heat, and lubed hands, breaking Will apart all too easily. It’s jerky movements, traveling along the mattress, leaving emptiness behind. It’s the void that stays when Will is alone again, body sated but mind numb, an itch under his skin, a dreamless sleep dipping the events into a dreamlike state, surreality diluting everything.

 

******

Will descends the stairs in the morning, greeting the pack, feeling relatively rested. He clears his throat, still a bit raw from the scream that was torn from it, aware of the look that Hannibal shoots at him from the other side of the large room, sitting at the table in the early morning light, his hair glowing with light. Will raises his head, deliberately seeking eye contact, their eyes locking for a long moment before Hannibal breaks their gaze, returning to the iPad. Will swallows and walks over slowly, the dogs milling around his feet. He pours himself a coffee, settling into the seat across Hannibal with a sighed exhale, his gaze drifting outside to the white and brown and gold, the reflections from the water glittering silver. Hannibal’s voice calls him back, tone easy. “I have invited a guest tonight. Would you be so kind as to provide some salmon for us, if possible?”

Will blinks, blowing at the coffee, watching the steam fade into nothingness. “I’ll try.”

He doesn’t ask who or why, their encounters with the outside world always short and superficial to date. Someone Hannibal encountered on the market, maybe. Someone he found interesting enough while getting the newspaper. Someone other than Will, not brooding and silently demanding. Will swallows against the bile in his throat and smiles, sweetly, before he snatches a still warm croissant and gets up again, taking the dogs with him today, the wilderness calling to his soul.

******

The stream is cold, the dogs running up and down the shore, chasing after the twirling pieces of wood that keep drifting by. Will stands still for long instances, just drifting, the sounds a white noise, calming him until the day is like a dream, unreal, far away and peaceful. He had caught a young salmon earlier and then let it go again, some weird instinct telling him that it would have been too small for what Hannibal had in mind. The sun is low once more when the line gives a violent tug, jarring Will back into reality, using his weight to stop the large fish’s movements upstream. It’s huge, the silvery scales flashing through the water’s surface, its tail a whiplash, spraying water in Will’s face. It’s icy cold and clear and “not salty” and yet the flashback is so violent it makes Will stagger back, the line clenched between his gloved but nonetheless almost numb fingers, losing his stance near the river bank. He falls down, his hands bleeding where the line cuts into them through the fabric, the moment his head submerges a shock to his system. He rears back up, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth open in a silent scream, unable to breathe. 

The water had been so cold. The drop so deep. The pain so intense. The weight of his clothes and Hannibal in his arms, unresponsive after hitting the surface, pulling him down. Suffocating under water - drowning - had been horrible. Not the final, gentle release that he might have wished for, there on the cliff top. Not the strength-draining, peaceful fading he had, maybe, envisioned. Not the instant death through broken bones and inner injuries he may have hoped for, the waves at the cliff bottom too wild, too unruly to provide the necessary unyielding surface.  
Instead it had been a numbing weight and rising panic, lungs screaming for air, legs and arms kicking instinctually, terror settling deeper in his bones with every beat of his frantic heart. His vision had drawn in and Will had been aware that this would be it, his mind screaming silently, mouth filled with salty liquid, aware that he could still make it up and to the surface if he would just lose the heavy weight in his arms. If he would do what they wanted him to.  
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t released Hannibal there, the instinctual, irresistible terror of death only surpassed by the horror of losing Hannibal in the murky depths. The tunnel had drawn in and the last thing he had seen there had been Hannibal’s face, an inch from his own, peaceful and calm and unconscious.  
He had jerked back to consciousness coughing and vomiting, heaving up gouts of seawater and blood, lances of pain shooting through him at every movement, making it absolutely and viciously clear that he was still alive. Thrown up against the cliff side, into a little alcove, shivering and in agony, but alive. It had taken Will forever to form a thought, the moment he realized he had to go and look for Hannibal inducing another fit of panic, too focused on them being together in this to doubt his path of action for a split second. He had searched, frantically, ridiculously happy when he had found Hannibal washed up a few meters over, hanging off one of the rocks, his torn sweater caught on one of the rough edges. And breathing, shallowly. Will had hovered over him there, trying to rouse him, panic returning in increments when he could not, drops of red on Hannibal’s face from Will’s lips. _And Will had went inside. Where it didn’t matter._

The police patrol boat had come close a while after, thinking them dead, the static of the radio signaling Jack’s arrival at the cliff house. Will had looked up into the light, hands clenched into the fabric of Hannibal’s sweater, his mind in turmoil. He had extended his hand and the light had shifted, the boat pushed closer. They had been pulled aboard, the only thing he remembers of the scene the astonishment in the officer’s voice as he had seen Will’s bloodshot eyes. 

_“Whoah, you’ve got eyes to match your cheek, there, Mr. Graham. Quite a number they did on you, but I guess that’s what you get when you bring the devil down.”_

Will had blinked and then exhaled, reaching up to clasp the officer’s shoulder, unable to put his instinctual and utterly irrational revulsion at the implication of the statement into words, his profound inability to return to who he was before. The next move had been on a whim, taking too much strength, no finesse, just necessity, the crunching of the bones as the officer’s neck broke a vicious thing. He had used the gun from the officer’s holster for the other officer piloting the boat, unable to push himself up fast enough to reach him otherwise, the shot echoing hollowly across the bay. Not a personal kill. Loud enough to have the radio come to life immediately, Jack’s voice booming even through this medium.  
Will had ignored it, crawling over to the piloting station, the coppery smell conversely calming, his world narrowing down to the piloting instruments, the world dropping away in the roaring of the engines, taking them away in the early morning hours. 

Will suddenly coughs and then throws up, bile and tears dripping into the stream, turning to his side in the shallow water, hands still clenching the line. He crawls out, sobbing, every tug on the line with his hands bringing forth another bout of copper. The fish fights him every step of the way but Will ignores it, his pack yipping and whining around him. He keeps crawling up the shore, the snow turning pinkish red where he passes, forcing himself to keep going until he reaches the first trees. He pulls the line from his cut gloves and his flesh with a hiss, winding it around the tree, eyes focused on everything and nothing. He flops down on the snow on his back when it is secured, panting harshly, swallowing profusely, the taste in his mouth a foul thing, the fish at his side flopping wildly for agonizingly long minutes before quieting down, its mouth opening and closing and Will cannot watch, cannot kill and release it, not this time, the moment when it’s over a physical relief.  
  
_‘It would have been easier if we had died.’_  
Will closes his eyes and lets the tears fall, his heart a sharp pain in his chest, unrelentingly beating nonetheless.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s almost dusk when he returns to their cabin, no -house- he corrects himself, the word cabin truly not fitting for a dwelling like it. The gutted and cleaned fish is still heavy but Will doesn’t feel it today, too cold to do more than trot back by sheer force of mind, his dogs running around him, tired but still much more energetic than himself.  
He stumbles inside and into the pantry across the hall, dropping the fish on the steel table, noting absentmindedly that it has been prepared with ice. Of course. There is a rhythmic clanging against bowls from the kitchen and the dogs run off, leaving Will alone there, his hand laid upon the scales, feeling the phantom life, long gone now. 

“What happened, Will?”

Will jerks and snatches his hand away, drawing it across his mouth, trying to calm the trembling. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice, his still wet clothes making him shiver even more in the warm air. There is a rustling of cloth and then Hannibal’s arms encircle him and draw him near, warm breath in the hair on Will’s head. The hand grips his own hands and pull Will in, holding just tight enough to provide an anchor, holding just tight enough to make the pain ebb and bleed out, for now. Will closes his eyes and lets himself draw some of the strength, lets himself fall into the embrace. Long minutes pass and Will drifts a bit in the too cold and too wet and yet too good moment and then suddenly footsteps sound and Hannibal’s breathing changes and it’s the perfume he recognizes before his mind catches up, her voice sending terror into his heart, words warm and yet biting.

“In good times and bad times… Hello, hot shot.”

Will gasps again, his breath coming short, the air around him turning to liquid until there is no oxygen more to consume, the world drawing in.

 

******

He comes back to himself in his bed, naked under the covers, with a warming water bottle and Hannibal sitting on the edge, stroking the scar on his forehead. He licks his lips, irrationally timid, kneading the blanket with slow movements, his voice low. “What happened?”

Hannibal hums, continuing his stroking, his other hand coming up to push a stray curl behind Will’s ear. His voice is quiet, though suffused with a strange benevolent humor, too gentle somehow. “You were having an episode. I told her it’s because of the physical exhaustion.”

Will wants to scream and shout, only managing a defeated cackle. “It’s not though… is it.”

Hannibal sighs, locking eyes with Will’s for emphasis. “No, it’s not.”

Will closes his eyes for a moment and then curses, batting Hannibal’s hands away with angry movements, pushing himself up against the headboard, uncaring of the cold air hitting his skin. “Is she still here?”

Hannibal blinks and then turns his head away, inspecting the night stand and Will grinds his teeth, wanting to yell at Hannibal to fucking look a his nipples if he wants to but he refrains, the anger settling somewhere deep in his gut. “She is. Only 30 Minutes have passed after all.”

Will nods to himself, throwing the blanket off suddenly, getting up without caring for clothes. He stalks around the room naked, Hannibal’s gaze a lead weight, collecting his clothes from the closet and drawers. He stops when he has everything, turning to the bathroom, throwing the words back over his shoulder. “Why don’t you prepare dinner. I’ll be with you both shortly.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind himself. Firmly. Sighs, when he sees the clothes laid out for him. 

Curses, when he sees the ring is missing.

The air shimmers around him and Will breathes through his nose, trying to calm down, his professional education providing the rational explanations for his panic attacks just fine.


	4. Chapter 4

He descends a short while later, hair brushed and outwardly collected, his emotions in turmoil. She is laughing at something, cooing - _the dogs_ \- the smell of fried salmon drifting over. Will turns the corner and clears his throat, refusing to fidget. Hannibal inclines his head towards him, a smile on his lips, the smile on Molly’s face turning brittle in turn, the table set beautifully. He forces his own mouth in a smile of his own, feeling the right cheek twitch a bit. “Hello Molly. This is a surprise.”

Her smile breaks, but a little one remains, honest. Her voice is soft, the words accompanied by a sidelong glance at Hannibal. “Hello Will. I’m sorry if I … triggered you, earlier.”

Will nods once, a self deprecating laugh coloring his tone. “Repercussions of decisions on a whim, and not met expectations. Turns out drowning isn’t so much fun after all and life comes at you fast.”

Hannibal tilts his head and then gets up slowly, guiding Will to the table with a hand to Will’s back, the scent of his aftershave having an instantly calming effect. Will follows the gentle pressure and sits down opposite of Molly, watching as she watches their interaction, watches the way Will cannot help but lean close when Hannibal leans down to pour some wine for Will. Hannibal smiles at them both and then leaves them for a moment, the seconds ticking away slowly, flickering like the candle’s light. Her tone is soft. “He loves you very much.”

Will recoils as if from a whiplash, blinking rapidly, his mind unable to come up with a proper response. _‘If you say so?’ ‘He sure loves my body.’ ‘More like a trophy.’_ The words are stuck in his mouth, not finding their way out. Hannibal returns to them with freshly steamed vegetables and fruit, starting to distribute the food artfully onto their plates. Will clears his throat once more, truly curious. “So how come you are here, Molly?”

And ‘in one piece’ he wants to add, this situation something he would have never expected in a thousand years. Molly snorts and there is a pang in Will’s chest, watching her take a deep fortifying sip of white wine before answering. “Well, you remember Wally’s grandparents buying a cabin upstate in Michigan? We decided to spend some time there after… well. Wally really came to life there again after you left and… we decided to stay. Needless to say living with family can be taxing and so I decided to spend a few days alone when I saw an ad in my local newspaper. Imagine my surprise when I literally bumped into one of the most sought after serial killers on a farmer’s market.” She chuckles, looking down into her wine glass, swirling the wine around a bit. “And imagine my surprise when he only wanted to talk…”

Indeed. Will takes a sip of his own wine, looking over at Hannibal when he toasts them both. “To family then. May we spend long years with our loved ones.”

Will huffs and Molly raises her eyebrows, their reactions making Hannibal smirk. He pulls off a piece of the perfectly fried salmon, chewing on it slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. It makes the hair in Will’s neck stand up, instinctually. Hannibal’s next words confirm his suspicions, gently spoken, but unyielding. “I am sorry, Molly. But I hope you are aware that we cannot let you go now. Not until Will has overcome his post traumatic stress and we are finally able to move forward.“

_‘Finally able to move forward.’_ Will reaches for his glass and drains it, reaching for the bottle himself and filling his glass up, not hungry suddenly. Molly closes her mouth with a snap, swallowing harshly, blinking rapidly. Will has to give it to her, she is holding herself much better than he is, all things considered. She digs into her food almost angrily, her eyes flitting around the room, taking the details in. The books on the shelf, the dog beds on the floor, its occupants dozing in front of the fire. The dark forest just beyond the glass. She inhales sharply, addressing Hannibal directly. “You have made this place for Will in mind, didn’t you, Hannibal. His favorite books on the shelves… when did you start preparing? Couldn’t have been only 6 months ago when you took your little jump.”

Fall. It was a fall. A letting go. A giving over to fate. To death. Will takes another sip of wine, the buzz hitting him already. He watches as Hannibal enjoys a bit more of the food, obviously weighing his words. “I had this house prepared two years ago, after I had heard of your wedding. It seemed to me that if Will and I would ever need to get away together, he would need familiar surroundings.”

Molly nods to herself and Will knows she realizes the same thing now he had realized after a few days here, the thought terrifying in its own right. Her voice trembles a bit, her hand clenching on the wine glass, continuing nonetheless and Will feels pride, this unrelenting strength one of the things that had drawn him to her. “I see you have my books there as well. The ones we had in our cabin… you watched us, not solely him.”

“I had someone else watch you, yes.”

Will closes his eyes, his voice very calm, very low. “It’s a gilded cage.”

Hannibal inhales quietly and Will can tell he isn’t quite… amused by his assessment, the sheer facts not always as romantically imbued as Hannibal may have meant them. Hannibal clears his throat, his voice carrying an edge. “It is a place to heal, to come to necessary revelations, so to speak. You are my guest, Mrs. Graham.”

Molly blinks at Hannibal, her tone flat. “It’s so weird you call me that… obviously you mean to take my place after all.”

Hannibal has the good grace to only incline his head at this and Will drains his second glass, the cold liquid turning to shifting static as reality takes a step sideways, his imagination providing visions of them, living easily and carefully with each other, saying everything and nothing and resolving exactly… nothing at all. A stale-mate, forced into politeness through necessity and fear, almost certainly ending in disaster. Something in Will shifts with the vision, his tone raw, the words bypassing his brain. “I’m sorry, Molly. He took your place years ago.”  
Time halts, suspending the movements of Molly and Hannibal both in mid-motion, two sets of eyes wide on Will. It would be comical if it wasn’t so devastating and Will swallows, forcing himself to continue, feeling wildly surreal. “And there was nothing I could do. I tried.”

He smiles, sharply, painfully before he takes another bottle out of the cooler and gets up, leaving the table, the silence deafening. 

*******

The door opens quietly after a little while and Molly flops down next to Will in the dark, propped up against his bed on the floor, chugging down warm white wine. She clinks her own bottle against Will’s, taking a big swallow. Her voice is a whisper, echoing hollowly. “I found the letters you didn’t dare to burn after you had left. And the remaining pieces in the ash of the ones you did. When… when this guy, the ‘Dragon’ came back and you… devised that… plan… I knew you wouldn’t come back. I just knew it.” She cackles, leaning in a bit, the wine sour on her breath. “Your lawyer called after you disappeared, Will, telling me of your fallback plans. Of the signed divorce papers.” Molly snorts, dropping her voice even more. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him we have been legally divorced for months now though, is it?”  
Will shakes his head wildly, pressing his lips together. No. Not a good idea at all. Probably. Molly sighs, shrugging gently. “Gosh, I knew you were trouble.” She clicks her tongue, bumping into Will on purpose, sniffing a bit, her voice gruff. “Whatever happens, promise me I get to see my son again, safe and sound, Will.”

Will swallows, his voice breaking. “I promise.”

Molly nods and then drains the bottle, settling her head on Will’s shoulder, shifting until comfortable. She quiets and eventually falls asleep that way, snoring gently and Will stays there, the world a drunken haze, his mind keeping him awake until the sun rises, its rays bringing something akin to clarity, finally, piercing through his consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ouch.” Molly pushes herself upright and kneads her neck, her joints popping. Will opens bleary eyes, feeling thoroughly sick, his head pounding. Molly snorts, patting Will’s thigh before she stumbles to her feet, stretching her back. “Gawd, I’m too old for this shit.”

Will snorts and then regrets it, the lance of pain dipping everything into red for a moment. He slowly keels over, trying to breathe through the nausea, his stomach far from happy with him. Molly hums and then bends and lightly strokes through Will’s curls, her tone soft. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be what you needed me to be, Will. What you wanted us to be. What _I_ wanted us to be.” 

She straightens again and steps over Will’s feet and up to the big window, watching the icy winter wonderland outside for long moments before continuing, her voice sounding faraway. “I think I finally understood when Freddie Lounds published her book. You know the ‘Murder Husbands ever after’… Of course it was blown up and utterly preposterous in parts but there was… truth there, in between the words. In the pictures she took, especially of the ones she took of you together. I don’t know if you knew, but she had tracked your escape and she was watching you with a telescope from the other side of the bay. Apparently the video of this man, this… Dolarhyde? It ran out before the fight was over, after Hannibal turned it towards the terrace apparently. But she… she took a photo.”

Molly pauses and Will presses his forehead to the cold metal of the bedstead, knowing. Dreading. Molly bullies on and Will admires her for it, this, the fierceness in her refusal to back down one of the things that drew him to her after all. Something he recognized. “She captured you as you both were standing close to the cliff. You are both bloody in it, clutching each other. And you smile at him. I’ve never seen a smile like this one on your face before.”

Will breathes open mouthed, trying to keep the words in and failing. “Like what?”

Molly sighs and turns from the window, kneeling down next to Will, her fingers threading through Will’s hair once more. She clicks her tongue, tugging softly. “Like nothing else mattered. Like bliss.”

There is a sob stuck in Will’s throat and Molly shushes him, stroking softly. She leans close, whispering, her voice suffused with emotion, hurting them both. “You chose him, in the end. As an end or a beginning. Why are you not happy, Will?”

Will rears up and runs over into the en-suite bathroom, throwing up into the toilet, the heaving exertions vaguely cleansing, emotionally at least. Molly follows him to the doorframe, leaning against it as Will flushes and pushes himself up, watching himself in the mirror with bloodshot eyes for long moments, before he rinses out his mouth. He turns towards Molly and wipes his face with the towel, feeling like shit. He tries twice, managing the words on the third attempt, the relief to speak them outweighed by the pain they set free. “I’m a trophy to him, Molly. Something he fought for and finally won. Something to be coveted and indulged. He knows I won’t run. And where would I run now. I killed for him. I… killed for us.” 

Molly blinks rapidly and hides her mouth behind her hands, dropping them again with an effort, her voice shaky. “I don’t believe that. I’ve seen how he looks at you. What makes you say that?”

Will smiles, wide but brittle, throwing the towel into a corner and taking a step towards Molly. “He never touches me beyond the kind neutral way except if I ask for it. He reads and sketches but we hardly talk. He accepts everything I do with a smile and then turns away… He…” Will’s voice breaks, swallowing, sees how Molly echoes the motion, he walks forward and leans against the other side of the doorframe, his voice barely audible. “He has never kissed me.” Will pulls a face, his final words harsh. “It’s just sex to him. Something to have.”

Molly pulls a face, steps forward and embraces him then, holding him and Will lets himself be held, the tears falling, something in him breaking finally open.


	6. Chapter 6

Will wakes again in the afternoon, the headache still a vicious pounding, the house silent. He pushes himself up and digs out some Tylenol from the bedside drawer, swallowing them dry. He rolls himself out of bed and undresses with jerky movements, the shower intentionally cold. He exits it, finally feeling a bit better, his stomach growling. He dresses himself in jeans and sweater, not in the mood for dress clothes and walks to the kitchen slowly, wondering at the quiet. He looks outside the kitchen window, noticing the car gone, as well as all other souls.

He hesitates in the open doorway to the living room, looking over the empty dog beds, noticing how some seem to have disappeared. He turns and checks the laundry room, finding the washing machines empty and silent. Will frowns and then starts when he hears the tires on the gravel outside, crunching on the freshly fallen snow. He returns to the kitchen, watching Hannibal exit the big jeep, carrying a suitcase and a briefcase, Molly or the dogs nowhere to be seen. Will’s heart thumps hard but he refuses to follow the thought, walking over to the entrance hallway, keeping his steps calm by sheer force of mind. Hannibal opens the door and looks up, hesitating almost too shortly to be observed before coming in, putting down the suitcase next to the door while carrying the briefcase over to the little table. He puts down his keys and takes off his coat, movements very controlled, too controlled really and Will can feel himself coil quietly, the unspoken tension between them twisting into anger.

Hannibal turns to face him and Will suddenly sees the bruise on Hannibal’s left cheekbone, the little red area promising to turn to purple soon. He opens his mouth but Hannibal interrupts him, his tone vaguely amused and tinged with self-deprecation. “I see now why you chose her. She really is a very special woman.”

Will blinks, his tone harsh. “Where is she? And where are the dogs?”

Hannibal exhales, tapping his fingers on the little table for a moment. Will notices absent-mindedly that the little porcelain statue on it seems to be missing. “I brought her back to her apartment. I left the dogs with her, since we cannot take them with us when we leave tonight.”

Will huffs, stumped and annoyed, hackles raised. “You… what? What happened to her staying with us so I could move forward as you put it so blithely?”

Hannibal clicks his tongue, a small smile playing around his lips. “She… came down a few hours ago after you had fallen asleep, took the little figurine of the abhorrent greek deity that came with the house, hit me over the head and told me in quite precise words, that the only thing keeping you from moving forward was indeed I.” Hannibal smirks, his eyebrows raising. “And yes, before you ask, mylimasis, I let her hit me as I admired her gall. She was all righteous fury and vibrating energy. Very alluring.”  
Will grinds his teeth, his hands clenching at his sides. Hannibal steps closer, his voice low. “I asked her then what I should do to break the self-imposed cycle of need and retreat we have somehow built. The way you always slept a foot apart from me while we healed. How you woke up screaming but batted my hands away. How you walked out and away from me when we came here and I was still bound to the wheelchair.”  
Hannibal licks his lips, close now, his eyes flitting back and forth. “How I, with all my years of deception and experience did not dare to induce another treatment out of fear of further driving you away. How I resigned myself to only take what you would offer willingly. How I would… meditate before going to you when you asked so I would not overwhelm you with my need.”

Will’s vision blurs and then clears, the tear falling silently onto the floor. He swallows, his voice gruff, needing and dreading the answer. “And? What wisdom did she teach you, to break me free…”

Hannibal chuckles, his body almost touching Will’s now, making him light-headed. “That I am, indeed, an idiot.” Hannibal leans in and licks along the track of tears, the soft lapping sensation making Will arch slightly, the sensation traveling through him. His lips glide down Will’s cheek, nipping gently at the scar before dragging over through the stubble, breathing onto the corner of Will’s mouth. Will’s heart stutters and his hands come up to clench into the expensive cloth of Hannibal’s waist coat without any conscious thought, his eyes closing. Hannibal whispers against Will’s mouth, the words an intimate caress. “I am sorry, Will.”

  
  
  


It hurts. 

The fiery lines of the scars on Hannibal’s hand pulse viciously, the air around Will shimmering like liquid. He gasps for air and Hannibal embraces him softly, as he would a spooked animal, all the while staying there, his lips touching Will’s, his hands pressing into Will’s lower back and his shoulder. Will jerks violently, his body fighting itself and he squeezes his eyes shut, lights dancing behind his eyelids. Hannibal just stays there, quietly, letting the fit run its course, the movements quieting again after a while, Will’s heart thundering in his chest. He sobs once, his eyes bloodshot when he reopens them, unseeing on the wall across the hall.  
His hands come up slowly, gliding along the cloth, brushing Hannibal’s lapels. The angle is wrong and there is no real space to move but Will pushes his hands up until he can put his hands around Hannibal’s throat, his thumb left and right of the Adam’s apple. Hannibal sighs and Will roars suddenly, pushing, dragging Hannibal around and against the wall, hissing when Hannibal’s head slams against the wall, triggering a groan.  
Will flashes back to the time when he killed Randall Tier, how he had dreamt it had been Hannibal there, beneath him, had envisioned wiping that smile off his face with his fists. How his recounting of the dream had made them both reluctant to leave their seats, blood flow needing to be redirected. He pulls and then slams once more, the faint smell of copper drafting up, his index and middle fingers wet suddenly. He leans close, eyes flashing with ire, hissing the words. “You… absolute… asshole.”  
He presses his fingers in, their gazes locked, wide eyed blue on blackish red. Will swallows, snarling quietly. “I killed for us… I cared for you for months and you… you treated me like a pet, using me, never acknowledging my emotions and now… _now_ you have the gall to say one slap to your face by my ex wife has brought you to your senses?”

Will is shouting at the end and not caring, panting for breath. Hannibal blinks and then swallows, his hands on Will’s back digging in suddenly. “Ex?”  
Will cackles, harshly, furious, pushing close, his tone cold, a parody of a long gone conversation. “Oh… Something you didn’t know, Doctor. How does this make you feel?”


	7. Chapter 7

Something flashes in Hannibal’s eyes and then his hands move up and grip Will’s head tightly, pushing forward into Will’s hold uncaringly, the kiss bruising and painful. His teeth bite into Will’s lips until Will opens his mouth with a gasp, taking possession of Will’s mouth immediately. Hannibal’s tongue goes deep, devouring, and Will only realizes he has relented his grip on Hannibal’s throat when his hands find Hannibal’s neck and ass by themselves. There is copper on Will’s tongue and he grunts, pushing back, their tongues battling harshly, spit and blood smearing across their chins. Will pulls and then bites down viciously, the grunt traveling through him, sending more blood south and he moans into the kiss, pushing his hips forward. 

And as suddenly as the kiss had started it stops, Hannibal forcing Will back with bared teeth, both their mouths bloody, panting harshly. Will locks his muscles and refuses to yield further, snarling, making Hannibal grin wolfishly. Hannibal licks his lips, something gentling in his gaze, something akin to the way he looked at Will on the cliff top entering his features. His voice is low, rumbling, arousal openly acknowledged and displayed. “Ahhhh, mylimasis. _There you are…_ ”

And just like that it all makes sense.   
The hesitancy, the way that things went wrong for so long.   
How Hannibal had seemed to be waiting, reluctant.   
Not wanting to take advantage but helpless to refuse a direct request.  
Decent, for fucking once in his life.

And Will… exhales.

The buzz in Will’s head drops away, the fear that created it molten by righteous anger, the despair created in the icy grip of the Atlantic and then fueled by circumstance now replaced by exhausted relief. Will’s hands relax slowly, only stroking, not gripping as harshly anymore.  
Hannibal hums and then leans close once more, so close Will can feel the heat of him, breathes the same air. He smiles softly and then tilts his head, their lips catching, electricity prickling along Will’s skin. Hannibal starts stroking Will’s neck and draws his fingers through Will’s hair, the kiss gliding softness now, sending tendrils of want everywhere. Will tugs with his lips and then sighs, touching the tip of his tongue to Hannibal’s upper lip, grinning when Hannibal’s hips jerk against his own, keeping it soft now, sharp teeth hidden behind flesh. 

Their tongues start the age old dance slowly now, building leisurely, the lingering taste of copper an additional incentive, somehow. Will frowns suddenly, remembering, his left hand feeling up until he encounters the little wound on Hannibal’s head, the almost dried blood there making the hair stick together. Will draws back slowly, their mouths separating with a wet sound, licking his lips. He searches Hannibal’s eyes and then smiles, worrying the wound with his fingers, deliberately, watching as Hannibal’s pupils dilate ever further. He pulls his hand back, his fingertips wet and then he reaches up, smearing his fingers down Hannibal’s face, drawing the bloody line all the way down to Hannibal’s collarbone. Hannibal inhales, his nostrils flaring and it’s beyond erotic somehow, the way the animal side is allowed its due. Will pushes forward and draws his nose up along Hannibal’s cheek, close to the bloody line, enjoying how it makes them both shiver a bit. Hannibal’s hands clench in his hair, though he is not pulling, holding still in Will’s grip. Will exhales through his nose, shifting a bit until their bodies fully align, the motion drawing a sigh from Hannibal and Will grins for a moment, his voice breathed along the stubble on Hannibal’s jaw. “How long until we have to leave?”

Hannibal turns his head, catching Will’s upper lip for a moment between his own, before releasing them and pressing a kiss to Will’s nose. Will snorts and Hannibal chuckles, his voice almost inaudible. “The cab will pick us up in just about 2 hours. I have everything we need for now in the suitcase and the passports as well as some cash in the briefcase.”

Will nods almost imperceptibly, licking his lips, deliberately shifting his hips a bit forward against the answering hardness there. Hannibal’s teeth flash in a quick grin, his voice suffused with lewdness and lust and emotion in equal measure. “Yes, Will.”

Will takes Hannibal’s mouth then, pushing his lust into it, his heart stuttering when Hannibal just takes it, letting Will have his way. Will draws pack panting, his hands dropping to lock in Hannibal’s lapels, pulling, turning towards the stairs. He frowns when he feels Hannibal resisting, turning back to lock eyes with him, arousal increasing another notch when he sees Hannibal smile salaciously. He tilts his head in a silent inquiry and Hannibal grins, walking them backwards, towards the pantry. Hannibal drops his hands to Will’s belt on the way, pulling it out slowly, in time with their steps, his voice sultry now. “Our game was always safe here… how about you devour a… body on there now.”

Oh god. Will pushes Hannibal backwards, the sharp smack as Hannibal hits the steel table drawing a gasp. He follows, bending forward and biting at Hannibal’s neck, salt and copper mixing with the innate taste, making him groan. Hannibal lets his head fall back, his hands dropping to his sides, gripping the edges of the table. Will tightens his hands and pulls, ripping the cloth apart, the waistcoat and the underlying shirt hanging in tatters from Hannibal’s shoulders. Hannibal inhales sharply and Will grins, his neck prickling with unseen antlers. He pulls his nails down Hannibal’s chest, drawing a quiet hiss, and Will opens the buttons to both their trousers slowly, making sure to brush gently, nudging the anticipation up another notch. He pushes down his own pants and underwear, stepping out of them, feeling slightly weird in his sweater and socks. Until he sees the hunger in Hannibal’s gaze that is, the burning desire in them trickling down his spine like molten fire, making him leak. Hannibal groans and pushes him back, dropping to his knees, his tongue going out to swipe along the slit and Will falls forward a bit with a deep groan, holding himself up on the table. There is rustling of cloth beneath him and then the sense of rhythmic motions, timed to the licks at his head and Will moans, the implications utterly erotic. His right hand drops to Hannibal’s head, pressing gently and then heat envelops him, taking his breath and sight. Will releases Hannibal’s head reluctantly, fumbling along the shelves off his right side, the glass bottle clinking on the steel. Hannibal moans around him and Will gasps, drawing back, breathing heavily. Hannibal pushes himself up and it’s beyond erotic to see the glistening wetness of his mouth and chin, the air charged between them. Will grips Hannibal’s right arm and turns him, his hand going up under the jacket and shirt to press find the Verger mark, his teeth locking in phantom anger. He presses and Hannibal yields with a sigh, the world taking on a red throb in Will’s vision.  
Will uncaps the bottle, spilling out oil uncaringly, drawing his fingers through it. Not ideal, but sufficient. He easily finds his target, stroking outside only, his left hand keeping Hannibal bent. Will exhales, trying to breathe through the need, unfocusing his eyes, just one more caress, one more, until Hannibal is twitching helplessly beneath him, trying to entice him to press in, and Will snarls a smile, using two fingers when he finally does, unrelentingly searching out his target. Hannibal groans beneath him, his hands pressing down on the steel white-knuckled. Will hums and then adds another finger, drawing a hiss, ending in a sharp moan when he rubs the gland, making sure to fuse the slight pain with pleasure until Hannibal relaxes a bit. He draws his fingers back out and reaches for the bottle, taking the unspoken cue when Hannibal widens his stance, shifting slightly. 

Will takes him then, in long, deep strokes, concentrating on the motion, the tight heat threatening to take his mind. Hannibal is silent beneath him, his face slightly turned sideways, and slack with pleasure, eyes black. It feels powerful to reduce Hannibal to this and Will sharpens his thrusts by increments, changing the angle until he forces a sound from Hannibal that’s raw beyond measure, sending shivers down Will’s spine. He lets go then, falling forward, his hands going under Hannibal’s chest, pressing over his heart, mouth at Hannibal’s neck, grinding into him. Will clenches his teeth, trying to keep the words in, unsuccessfully, the words dropping from his mouth like the tears, raining from his eyes. “I love you.”

Hannibal shudders beneath him and comes, silently, his body tightening around Will until the world narrows down into a pinpoint of pleasure, taking him with it with a low scream.


	8. Chapter 8

Will comes back to himself laid out over Hannibal’s back, their bodies still connected, sweaty skin under Will’s lips, where the shirt gave way at the neck. He feels Hannibal swallow and move just a bit, his voice gravely when he speaks, all the pretentiousness gone for once, something vicious and yet vulnerable in it. “Will you hunt with me, Will?”

Will swallows in return, pushing his nose through the sweaty hair at the nape of Hannibal’s neck, remembering his own disappointment at their game. He sighs, pushing himself up with both hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, keeping him down. Feeling the muscles coil in slight reluctance, but holding. For now. Will smiles sharply, closing his eyes, his voice carrying steel. “Only the ones I choose.”

He pushes back, drawing out, making them both hiss. Hannibal pushes himself up and turns, unashamedly, his eyes still black, something vaguely shark-like in them and Will realizes he is staring at Hannibal almost at his most primal, most base, almost unleashed. Hannibal tilts his head, almost in a reptile-like manner and Will’s lizard brain kicks in on instinct, his hand coming forward and up, pressing into Hannibal’s throat. He licks his teeth, his voice deliberately soft, reiterating. “Only. The. Ones. I. Choose.”

He steps forward, feeling their beasts lock their horns, the kiss he bestows upon Hannibal’s lips too soft, too kind for the ravaging emotions he can feel from Hannibal. Another peck and Will can hear the beast roar in defeat in his imagination, feels the tremor run through Hannibal. Will smiles softly and then drops his hand, pulling Hannibal off the steel table by the tatters of his shirt, humor coloring his voice. “Come, let us get this mess cleaned up.”

Hannibal inhales sharply and then blinks, the nod following an afterthought but Will knows, just knows his demand was accepted. He grins suddenly, his eyes flashing, leaning close. “Race ya’.”

He turns and is off, feeling Hannibal follow, racing up the stairs, his instincts screaming, heart thundering, the game turning vicious and deadly for an instant when Hannibal catches him in his bedroom, both stumbling onto Will’s bed, panting harshly. Hannibal growls, forcing Will’s leg apart and Will moans sharply, feeling Hannibal’s teeth at his neck, arousal slamming through them with the adrenaline. Will shivers, conversely glad that they are not -that- young anymore, the fingers pressing feeling way too huge. Hannibal growls again and then twists his fingers, making Will see stars, body shivering in agonized pleasure. Hannibal does it again and again, his nails scratching and Will comes, his body succumbing to the handling with a dry orgasm, almost hurtful in intensity. 

Hannibal releases his neck then, his breath hot on Will’s ear, rasping, making Will shiver. “I love you, too, mylimasis. And as long as I may hunt you down, I will accept any terms you put out.”

Will laughs then, a full belly laugh, ending in snickering and he turns when Hannibal releases him, a curious glint in his eyes. Will sniffs and licks his lips, his voice suffused with warmth. “This is so us… it’s idiotic. Life-changing negotiations and intense emotions worked through while bringing each other down… through the ‘little death’ only this time but still…”  
Will snickers again and then pulls Hannibal down for a deep kiss, swallowing the response, holding onto Hannibal until he feels him relax, kissing for kissing’s sake now.   
Hannibal withdraws eventually, nose pushing into Will’s, his tone reflective, suffused with gentle humor. “Will you burn down this house and then elope with me, William?”

Will pulls a face and lightly hits Hannibal on the shoulder, wagging his finger. “Don’t you dare. Only my Dad called me by my full given name.”  
Something sly steals across Hannibal’s features, shivering in his tone. “Not into Daddy issues, William?”  
Will freezes wide-eyed and then groans too loud, deliberately shivering, delighted when it triggers a small chuckle from Hannibal. He raises his hand, pushing it through the silvery strands of Hannibal’s hair, his voice turning wistful. “I’m not that younger. And I’m _sure_ we have enough kinks between us to last us the rest of our lives…” Hannibal raises his eyebrows, a sparkle in his eyes and Will rolls his eyes, chuckling softly. “Profiler here, remember. Hooking up with a Psychologist. Oh boy.”  
Hannibal’s eyes crinkle and he bends down and kisses Will, the kiss full of unspoken intensity, taking both their breaths. He pulls back and then pulls Will up, dragging him into the shower still half clothed, turning on the water on them both mercilessly. Will sputters and then laughs, his cheek hurting and it sobers him up, blinking away tears under the water. He reaches up and pushes his left hand over Hannibal’s mouth, shaking his head softly. “I think I laughed more today than in the whole last year…”  
Hannibal clicks his tongue, his eyes sharp suddenly. “Indeed.”

Will nods to himself and then takes off his sodden clothes dropping them uncaringly, turning his face into the spray. They wash themselves in an unspoken agreement to keep their hands off of each other just now, getting dressed in dark, nondescript clothes in silent agreement as well. It’s calming and Will realizes they are finally in sync again, the jarring dissonance of the last months dropping away. He skids down the steps and starts up a fire in the open fireplace, waiting until he feels Hannibal’s presence in his neck before he takes out a log, watching its one end burn, smoking heavily. He clicks his tongue, calling back quietly over his left shoulder. “So how will I get my dogs back?”  
Hannibal steps up to him and watches the shadows on Will’s face, the angles sharpened by time. He smiles, shrugging nonchalantly. “She will watch them for now, a contact will pick them up two days from now. I gather the FBI might have heard of this hideout by then, I think you might not want her to be actually part of our escape, would you?”

Will shakes his head, watching the flames flicker. Hannibal nods, continuing. “If all goes well the dogs will be gone by the time they arrive and she will have left. If they choose to interrogate her I believe she will be clever enough to feign ignorance. But by then we will be on our way south, I hope you will be amendable to some warmer weather. Your dogs will take a different route but they will reunite with you.”  
Will nods to himself, narrowing his eyes on a thought. “I believe I used to wear lilac bathing pants the last time I was in South America… we were visiting some kind of business partner of my Mother. I had forgotten my pants and so they bought the cheapest ones they found and they… were skimpy and tight and horrible.”

Hannibal clears his throat next to him and Will rolls his eyes, throwing the burning log onto one of the dog beds, shaking his head. “No, I won’t wear anything lilac again, even if you scourge every shop on this earth for them.”

The flames roar up behind him and Will turns towards Hannibal, watches as Hannibal heaves a huge, mockup sigh before smacking his lips. “It is a good thing then, mylimasis, that the bathing suit pants I bought are simply black.”   
Will narrows his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He raises his eyebrows, silently, waiting. Hannibal tilts his head, smirking slightly. “Though they are European in cut I’m afraid.”

Which makes ‘skimpy’ probably a generous euphemism. Will pulls a face, nodding to himself and then bumps into Hannibal with his shoulder on purpose, the fire bathing him in gold. He inhales and watches the shadows of them both grow, twisting meshes of antlers and horns and flickering lights, destroying one life to create another.


	9. Chapter 9

Will relaxes back into the seat, the pressure as the plane takes off making his stomach flip, the world dropping away. The scent of rose candles drifts over and Will smiles softly, walking up the isle. Hannibal falls into step beside him and walks up to the little space in front of the altar slowly, two chairs awaiting them. They sit down, in sync, mirroring each other and Will closes his eyes, the imagined sunlight in their mind palace soothing, transcendent. The weight of Hannibal’s gaze is grounding and Will feels peace descend, his whispered words enhancing the quiet somehow, transforming it. “So where do we go from here, Hannibal? Where do we go, now, that my becoming has triggered my rebirth, fitting as it was in the stormy water and growing pains?”

Hannibal reaches over and strokes a finger over Will’s right cheek, tracing the scar there. When he speaks it is with a quiet confidence that makes Will smile, wondering at himself that he believes it so willingly. “Everywhere, mylimasis.”

 

 

 

******

 

 

Will pulls down the zipper of the jumpsuit, dropping it uncaringly. He bends down to wash himself, grinning softly, when he can still perceive the tan lines of the skimpy bathing pants, despite the months that have passed now. He pushes back up again, watching the headlines roll on the screen on the other side of the wall, following the latest murder. A newsflash comes on, the anchor man salacious in self-righteous indignation, riling the audience up over the perceived frivolity of having the famous cannibal Hannibal Lecter transferred to Dallas for the Buffalo Bill case.

Will smiles viciously, stretching under the cold spray, his mind clicking through the pieces on the board, rearranging them. His hands scratch along his smile, feeling the thicker scarring on the one side, the little bump. The water stops and Will redresses in the new jumpsuit provided silently, toweling his hair off. The buzzer sounds and Will steps up, extending his hands. The handcuffs lock around his wrists and Will watches his guards joke with each other over last night’s endeavors through lowered lashes, keeping his posture demure. He puts the bite mask on willingly, waiting until he is walking towards the elevator with guard Jones, before he pulls the jumpsuits zipper apart with both hands, reaching inside to his smile. His nails dig in and he rips the scar tissue open, keeping his expression neutral, the small metal pin coming out without much effort. He clicks the handcuffs open when the elevator door closes, unwilling to dislocate his thumb this time, knowing he’s about to need his hands to climb. Jones jerks when the metal pin enters his jugular, the spray painting the wall. Will grabs the man’s hands, placing them onto the throat to stem the flow, raising his finger to his lips. Jones blinks and nods jerkily, breathing heavily and Will climbs up, opening the top hatch and jumps up to the ladder just as the elevator is slowing down, grinning when he pulls himself up.

The sirens start up a few minutes later, just as he exits through one of the air vents, pushing himself up into the sunlight. He grabs a stone from the yard and knocks in one of the service car windows, settling into the seat with a sigh. He takes the back streets and steals some clothes from a silent home, taking the motor bike that’s propped up in the backyard, the engine roaring to life.

Time to free Hannibal Lecter.

Will smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked!  
> (.... one of these days I want Bryan's idea for SotL.)  
> :)


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